SPN/DA Crossover Fic: The Wellspring (12/?)
Title: The Wellspring
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dark Angel
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Ah, fuck. I just said fuck. I say fuck a lot. Is that considered an R or a PG-13 these days? One of those.
Summary: Sam and Dean find a tiny smartass in a barn in Montana. What are they to do?
Warnings: Crude language, cuddles, ice cream
Previous chapters and more info can be found here.
___________________________________________
“What about these?” Dean wants to know.
Sam glances up from the display shelf to see his brother holding up a pair of tiny, grey underpants.
“I don’t know...they’re a little small, aren’t they?”
The fact that said tiny, grey underpants hit him in the face a second later is no surprise at all to Sam. Dean’s always been one for throwing merchandise around with no regard at all for store property. He catches the garment in his hands before it falls to the ground, holds it between two fingers with an expression of distaste.
Dean picks up another pair, delicately expands them for Sam to see.
“See? They have a little Bat signal on the butt. I think the boys will like ‘em. Do you think the boys will like ‘em?”
Sam can’t believe his ears. “Seriously?” His brother, of course, nods, looking quite unabashed. “Dean, you’re seriously suggesting we waste two extra dollars on Batman underwear?”
Dean shrugs. “We have extra money.”
“That Alec stole.”
“Your point?”
Sam rolls his eyes, folds the underwear and places them back onto the shelf. “Do what you want.”
“I will.”
“But you’re not getting Alec those sneakers. I don’t care how much he begs.” Sam’s not quite sure when or why he became the strict parent, but it’s kind of wearing him out. It’s just the way they look at Dean, the way they don’t look at Sam...it seems easy to be the responsible one when it’s what they’ve come to expect out of him, but at the same time it’s hard as hell. Sam melts when he sees the big green eyes, too, but it’s always Dean who gets hit with the look first.
“Where are they, anyway? I told ‘em to stay put.” His brother sounds worried, and he’s glancing around the vast expanse of the Walmart boys’ department, turning in circles and coming up with nothing.
“Maybe if you actually laid down the law sometime-”
“Hey, I lay down the law plenty. Who’s the one constantly taking away their ice cream?”
“They probably shouldn’t be having ice cream every day, Dean...”
But Dean’s not listening. He’s walking off and calling out names. Sam rolls his eyes and trails after him, is completely unsurprised when five minutes later they discover two small versions of Dean in the maze that is the women’s lingerie department.
“What did I tell you two...” Dean trails off. Alec turns towards them with a scintillating smile, a large brassiere cupping his head, and approximately twenty pairs of bright-colored panties littered at his feet. Two middle-aged women pin them with looks of pure disdain.
Ben says, “We were just curious, Daddy. I didn’t think we were doing anything wrong.”
Sam groans, plants his face in his palm or his palm in his face. He’s not sure what’s reacting in what right now - his neck in defeat, or his arm in frustration. One thing is for certain though: Dean’s utter lack of regard for store property? That’s genetic.
They buy the underwear, herd their small brood out of the store and into the Impala before they’re kicked out.
“Think we can count this as their first panty raid?” Dean asks. He closes the door shut after Ben climbs in, starts edging around to the driver’s side, the plastic bag of little boy underwear still swinging from his wrist.
“No, Dean.”
“I really think they could use some celebratory ice cream. It’s like they graduated, or got their driver’s license, or something.”
“Or lost their virginity?”
Dean halts, his hand on the door handle, his face pale. “Dude, that’s sick. They’re just babies.”
Sam smirks. “Well, they’re your clones, aren’t they? And if they progress anything like you, it’s only gonna be a few years from now and-”
Dean points at Sam now like Dad used to point at Sam. “You shut your mouth and get in the car.”
Sam gets in the car. His brother’s got Zeppelin playing, again, as always, and the boys are quiet for a few hours in the back seat, so Sam just presses his head against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes. Sometimes, when he does this, he can pretend he’s alone. He’s been doing it for years - just zoning out for the hell of it, trying not to think, just feeling the rumble and rhythm of the Impala as she gets them where they need to go. He remembers doing this when he was just a kid, just a little kid of about eight, when Dad wasn’t talking and Dean was talking too much. This is all the privacy Sam has ever possessed in a car full of Winchesters.
“Give it back, Ben.”
And it never lasts long.
“No. You shouldn’t have it anyway. You stole it.”
Sam sighs, reaches for the volume knob, hits his brother in the shoulder when his hand is nearly slapped away.
“Stole what?”
“This.”
Sam turns around. Ben’s holding the object up, jerking it away from Alec’s grabby little hands. Sam looks at the diminutive thief with perplexed eyes.
“Alec?” he asks slowly. “Why did you steal a bicycle bell?”
“It was shiny,” Alec replies defensively, green eyes shimmering with condescension. “Stop asking dumb questions.”
Sam remembers that look, remembers that voice and that tone and those words. Except Sam was five, the last time he’d been here, when Dean was nine and looking at him like he was an idiot.
“Benny, give it to me.”
Ben hands over the bell, looking regretful and apologetic like this is all his fault. And Alec’s halfway out of the backseat in an instant, snatching the bell out of Sam’s grip with a vicious pull.
“Alec.”
“I stole it. It’s mine.” And the kid smirks and rings the bell. Twice.
“You don’t know what stealing means,” Ben informs his twin. “If you stole it, it can’t be yours.”
“Wrong.” And Alec rings the bell again.
“I’m not wrong. You’re bastardizing words.”
“You swore.”
“I did not, Alec. It’s a perfectly legitimate way of saying ‘debase.’”
“Wrong.” The tinkling of that goddamn bell is getting on Sam’s nerves.
“It’s not wrong just because you say it is!”
“Wrong.”
Sam gives up. He really does. He twists back around in his seat just in time to see that Dean’s turning onto an exit. For all of his silence, the guy’s looking pretty irate.
“Dean?”
“Rest stop.”
“Why?
“You had a full ride to Stanford and you don’t get the point of a rest stop, yet?”
Sam is so fucking sick of being talked down to today. He huffs and knocks his broad shoulders back into his seat and glares out the window. It’s not much different than he used to act when he was sixteen, but fuck God to hell, this is obnoxious.
Dean slides into a parking space at the rest stop, pats Sam on the shoulder before getting out of the car.
“What?”
Dean leans down, sticks his head back in the car. “Stop looking like a bitch, bitch. I got this.”
You got what? Sam thinks about asking, but doesn’t, because his brother’s already opening the back door and dragging Alec out of the car. So apparently, Dean’s not going to take a piss.
“Where’re they going?” Ben asks.
“Dunno.”
Sam gets out of the car, though, and so does Ben and they watch as Dean leads Alec to a far off bench where they both sit down for what Sam assumes is a discussion about proper ways to behave in the Impala.
“Are you mad at us?”
Sam’s caught off guard, but he turns around and looks down and there’s Ben looking up at him with big, earnest eyes and Sam thinks he might just vomit from how awful he suddenly feels.
“No...Benny, no. Why would you think that?”
“You seem mad. You always seem mad.”
Sam feels perplexed. He’s feeling perplexed way too often these days. And apparently, he’s mad. Always mad. Sam’s irritated, frustrated, tired...but he’s not mad. It’s been a long few weeks, is all.
“Sometimes I think you don’t like us.” The confession is quiet, and Ben’s not looking at him anymore. Ben’s looking at the ground, scuffing his toe against the pavement of the parking lot, and Sam feels like an awful person. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite as awful as he does now.
Sometimes I think you don’t like us.
He’d said that to Dad, once, when he was small and uncomprehending of their situation. And Dad had turned around, away from Sam, and wiped a hand across his face before looking back at Sam and telling him that of course Dad liked them. Dad loved them. He just...he was trying so hard to get things right, was all.
So Sam kneels now, because he’s too damn tall for the kind of interaction necessary for a moment like this, places large hands on small shoulders.
“‘Course I like you. How could I not like you?” Ben looks away and Sam frowns, pulls the little boy forward, closer. “How could I not like you?” he repeats. “You’re Ben. You’re awesome.” It’s what Dean would say. Dean would say the right thing here, so Sam says what Dean would say. Ben’s still not looking at him though, and Sam’s almost afraid the words aren’t enough when little feet step forward just two more steps and tiny arms wrap warm and secure around his neck.
“M’I yours?” Ben wants to know. “Yours ‘n Dean’s?”
Sam breathes into the little neck, gets to his feet with the kid in his arms because he at least can do this right. He might not be the best at being the cool one or saying the right things all the time, but hugging? Sam’s got hugging down.
“You’re mine,” he agrees. “Mine and Dean’s.”
Ben clings to Sam like he usually clings to Dean. Sam wonders if Dean feels like this, if this is a universal feeling, if this is that feeling he’s been missing since these two magically appeared in their lives. The weight is warm and pure and beautiful and Sam feels for the first time like he gets it. And it’s not that holding Alec was never gratifying, it’s just that...the need was missing. Every single inch and pound of Ben emanates need. Sam is needed for more than knowledge of tactics from parenting books and reality television. Sam is needed because he’s Sam.
There’s a breeze in the air and it nips a little because it’s getting chilly, but Sam barely notices it. A woman in dark glasses passes them, nods and smiles, but Sam barely notices her even as he nods back. All that exists right now is Sam and Ben.
“Sam?”
And Dean.
Sam looks up at his brother, a little irritated that his perfect parental moment is being interrupted. Dean smirks, opens his arms, waves his fingers towards himself a little, indicating that he’s going to take Ben now.
“What?”
“Gimme the kid.”
“Why?”
“Because Alec’s got somethin’ he wants to say to you. And I want Benny cuddles.”
If it weren’t for the fact that Ben would probably be offended, Sam would so totally make fun of his brother for professing a longing for “Benny cuddles.” As it is, though, he reluctantly hands Ben over, looks down at Alec who’s looking at the ground and scuffing his shoes much like Ben was earlier.
This is different, though.
“M’sorry I was rude to you in the car, Uncle Sammy. And m’sorry I snatched the bell out of your hand after you took it away. Though, I have to say, it’s not my fault I have superior reflexes and-”
“Alec...” Dean’s all gruff and warning and Sam’s more than a little surprised that this is on his behalf.
“M’sorry,” Alec says again. And he pulls the bell out his hoodie pocket and hands it to Sam. “Dean- I mean, Daddy says I have to give this to you now, because I acted like a little asshole-”
“I didn’t say to call yourself an asshole, Alec. Try again.”
“How m’I supposed to get through this with you interruptin’ me all the time? Anyway, m’sorry I was disrespectful and you deserve better because you’re awesome and stuff. I realize now that my attitude and behavior were unfitting of a clone of Dean Winchester in the environment of the most awesome car to ever roar across the western plains and will you please forgive me?”
Sam snorts, looks at the bicycle bell in his hand, rings it once. “Sure, why not?”
“I expect that back at some point you know,” Alec tells him.
“Maybe when you’re thirty.”
“How come you get it, then? You’re not even thirty.”
“Closer to it than you.”
Alec rolls his eyes. Then he fidgets, looks back down at the ground. “Do I get my hug, now?”
Sam wonders briefly when he became the guy to hug before opening his arms to catch the quick impact that is Alec.
“M’sorry,” the boy says again, and this time he sounds earnest and sincere. “I really didn’t mean it. Sittin’ in the car all the time is just so boring.”
“Yeah, gets to me, too.”
It does. It really does. Sam leans down and kisses the kid’s head, because hell, it’s all forgiven, and Sam may be the sentimental Winchester, but this was a little more family drama than even he’s up for in one go.
Alec releases him, though he keeps an inexplicable hand latched to the fabric of Sam’s shirt on the way back to the Impala. Dean smirks when Sam looks at him for an explanation, raises an eyebrow. Sam rings the bicycle bell one more time.
“You’re puttin’ that thing in the trunk, by the way,” his brother tells him, arms still full of Ben. “It’s either that or I throw it out the window while we’re doing 90.”
Sam throws the bell in the trunk.
He gets into the car just as Dean’s starting the engine. Their boys are quiet and sleepy-eyed in the back seat. Sam puts his head against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes, but this time he doesn’t pretend he’s alone.
[ Next]
Fandom(s): Supernatural, Dark Angel
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Rating: Ah, fuck. I just said fuck. I say fuck a lot. Is that considered an R or a PG-13 these days? One of those.
Summary: Sam and Dean find a tiny smartass in a barn in Montana. What are they to do?
Warnings: Crude language, cuddles, ice cream
Previous chapters and more info can be found here.
___________________________________________
“What about these?” Dean wants to know.
Sam glances up from the display shelf to see his brother holding up a pair of tiny, grey underpants.
“I don’t know...they’re a little small, aren’t they?”
The fact that said tiny, grey underpants hit him in the face a second later is no surprise at all to Sam. Dean’s always been one for throwing merchandise around with no regard at all for store property. He catches the garment in his hands before it falls to the ground, holds it between two fingers with an expression of distaste.
Dean picks up another pair, delicately expands them for Sam to see.
“See? They have a little Bat signal on the butt. I think the boys will like ‘em. Do you think the boys will like ‘em?”
Sam can’t believe his ears. “Seriously?” His brother, of course, nods, looking quite unabashed. “Dean, you’re seriously suggesting we waste two extra dollars on Batman underwear?”
Dean shrugs. “We have extra money.”
“That Alec stole.”
“Your point?”
Sam rolls his eyes, folds the underwear and places them back onto the shelf. “Do what you want.”
“I will.”
“But you’re not getting Alec those sneakers. I don’t care how much he begs.” Sam’s not quite sure when or why he became the strict parent, but it’s kind of wearing him out. It’s just the way they look at Dean, the way they don’t look at Sam...it seems easy to be the responsible one when it’s what they’ve come to expect out of him, but at the same time it’s hard as hell. Sam melts when he sees the big green eyes, too, but it’s always Dean who gets hit with the look first.
“Where are they, anyway? I told ‘em to stay put.” His brother sounds worried, and he’s glancing around the vast expanse of the Walmart boys’ department, turning in circles and coming up with nothing.
“Maybe if you actually laid down the law sometime-”
“Hey, I lay down the law plenty. Who’s the one constantly taking away their ice cream?”
“They probably shouldn’t be having ice cream every day, Dean...”
But Dean’s not listening. He’s walking off and calling out names. Sam rolls his eyes and trails after him, is completely unsurprised when five minutes later they discover two small versions of Dean in the maze that is the women’s lingerie department.
“What did I tell you two...” Dean trails off. Alec turns towards them with a scintillating smile, a large brassiere cupping his head, and approximately twenty pairs of bright-colored panties littered at his feet. Two middle-aged women pin them with looks of pure disdain.
Ben says, “We were just curious, Daddy. I didn’t think we were doing anything wrong.”
Sam groans, plants his face in his palm or his palm in his face. He’s not sure what’s reacting in what right now - his neck in defeat, or his arm in frustration. One thing is for certain though: Dean’s utter lack of regard for store property? That’s genetic.
They buy the underwear, herd their small brood out of the store and into the Impala before they’re kicked out.
“Think we can count this as their first panty raid?” Dean asks. He closes the door shut after Ben climbs in, starts edging around to the driver’s side, the plastic bag of little boy underwear still swinging from his wrist.
“No, Dean.”
“I really think they could use some celebratory ice cream. It’s like they graduated, or got their driver’s license, or something.”
“Or lost their virginity?”
Dean halts, his hand on the door handle, his face pale. “Dude, that’s sick. They’re just babies.”
Sam smirks. “Well, they’re your clones, aren’t they? And if they progress anything like you, it’s only gonna be a few years from now and-”
Dean points at Sam now like Dad used to point at Sam. “You shut your mouth and get in the car.”
Sam gets in the car. His brother’s got Zeppelin playing, again, as always, and the boys are quiet for a few hours in the back seat, so Sam just presses his head against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes. Sometimes, when he does this, he can pretend he’s alone. He’s been doing it for years - just zoning out for the hell of it, trying not to think, just feeling the rumble and rhythm of the Impala as she gets them where they need to go. He remembers doing this when he was just a kid, just a little kid of about eight, when Dad wasn’t talking and Dean was talking too much. This is all the privacy Sam has ever possessed in a car full of Winchesters.
“Give it back, Ben.”
And it never lasts long.
“No. You shouldn’t have it anyway. You stole it.”
Sam sighs, reaches for the volume knob, hits his brother in the shoulder when his hand is nearly slapped away.
“Stole what?”
“This.”
Sam turns around. Ben’s holding the object up, jerking it away from Alec’s grabby little hands. Sam looks at the diminutive thief with perplexed eyes.
“Alec?” he asks slowly. “Why did you steal a bicycle bell?”
“It was shiny,” Alec replies defensively, green eyes shimmering with condescension. “Stop asking dumb questions.”
Sam remembers that look, remembers that voice and that tone and those words. Except Sam was five, the last time he’d been here, when Dean was nine and looking at him like he was an idiot.
“Benny, give it to me.”
Ben hands over the bell, looking regretful and apologetic like this is all his fault. And Alec’s halfway out of the backseat in an instant, snatching the bell out of Sam’s grip with a vicious pull.
“Alec.”
“I stole it. It’s mine.” And the kid smirks and rings the bell. Twice.
“You don’t know what stealing means,” Ben informs his twin. “If you stole it, it can’t be yours.”
“Wrong.” And Alec rings the bell again.
“I’m not wrong. You’re bastardizing words.”
“You swore.”
“I did not, Alec. It’s a perfectly legitimate way of saying ‘debase.’”
“Wrong.” The tinkling of that goddamn bell is getting on Sam’s nerves.
“It’s not wrong just because you say it is!”
“Wrong.”
Sam gives up. He really does. He twists back around in his seat just in time to see that Dean’s turning onto an exit. For all of his silence, the guy’s looking pretty irate.
“Dean?”
“Rest stop.”
“Why?
“You had a full ride to Stanford and you don’t get the point of a rest stop, yet?”
Sam is so fucking sick of being talked down to today. He huffs and knocks his broad shoulders back into his seat and glares out the window. It’s not much different than he used to act when he was sixteen, but fuck God to hell, this is obnoxious.
Dean slides into a parking space at the rest stop, pats Sam on the shoulder before getting out of the car.
“What?”
Dean leans down, sticks his head back in the car. “Stop looking like a bitch, bitch. I got this.”
You got what? Sam thinks about asking, but doesn’t, because his brother’s already opening the back door and dragging Alec out of the car. So apparently, Dean’s not going to take a piss.
“Where’re they going?” Ben asks.
“Dunno.”
Sam gets out of the car, though, and so does Ben and they watch as Dean leads Alec to a far off bench where they both sit down for what Sam assumes is a discussion about proper ways to behave in the Impala.
“Are you mad at us?”
Sam’s caught off guard, but he turns around and looks down and there’s Ben looking up at him with big, earnest eyes and Sam thinks he might just vomit from how awful he suddenly feels.
“No...Benny, no. Why would you think that?”
“You seem mad. You always seem mad.”
Sam feels perplexed. He’s feeling perplexed way too often these days. And apparently, he’s mad. Always mad. Sam’s irritated, frustrated, tired...but he’s not mad. It’s been a long few weeks, is all.
“Sometimes I think you don’t like us.” The confession is quiet, and Ben’s not looking at him anymore. Ben’s looking at the ground, scuffing his toe against the pavement of the parking lot, and Sam feels like an awful person. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt quite as awful as he does now.
Sometimes I think you don’t like us.
He’d said that to Dad, once, when he was small and uncomprehending of their situation. And Dad had turned around, away from Sam, and wiped a hand across his face before looking back at Sam and telling him that of course Dad liked them. Dad loved them. He just...he was trying so hard to get things right, was all.
So Sam kneels now, because he’s too damn tall for the kind of interaction necessary for a moment like this, places large hands on small shoulders.
“‘Course I like you. How could I not like you?” Ben looks away and Sam frowns, pulls the little boy forward, closer. “How could I not like you?” he repeats. “You’re Ben. You’re awesome.” It’s what Dean would say. Dean would say the right thing here, so Sam says what Dean would say. Ben’s still not looking at him though, and Sam’s almost afraid the words aren’t enough when little feet step forward just two more steps and tiny arms wrap warm and secure around his neck.
“M’I yours?” Ben wants to know. “Yours ‘n Dean’s?”
Sam breathes into the little neck, gets to his feet with the kid in his arms because he at least can do this right. He might not be the best at being the cool one or saying the right things all the time, but hugging? Sam’s got hugging down.
“You’re mine,” he agrees. “Mine and Dean’s.”
Ben clings to Sam like he usually clings to Dean. Sam wonders if Dean feels like this, if this is a universal feeling, if this is that feeling he’s been missing since these two magically appeared in their lives. The weight is warm and pure and beautiful and Sam feels for the first time like he gets it. And it’s not that holding Alec was never gratifying, it’s just that...the need was missing. Every single inch and pound of Ben emanates need. Sam is needed for more than knowledge of tactics from parenting books and reality television. Sam is needed because he’s Sam.
There’s a breeze in the air and it nips a little because it’s getting chilly, but Sam barely notices it. A woman in dark glasses passes them, nods and smiles, but Sam barely notices her even as he nods back. All that exists right now is Sam and Ben.
“Sam?”
And Dean.
Sam looks up at his brother, a little irritated that his perfect parental moment is being interrupted. Dean smirks, opens his arms, waves his fingers towards himself a little, indicating that he’s going to take Ben now.
“What?”
“Gimme the kid.”
“Why?”
“Because Alec’s got somethin’ he wants to say to you. And I want Benny cuddles.”
If it weren’t for the fact that Ben would probably be offended, Sam would so totally make fun of his brother for professing a longing for “Benny cuddles.” As it is, though, he reluctantly hands Ben over, looks down at Alec who’s looking at the ground and scuffing his shoes much like Ben was earlier.
This is different, though.
“M’sorry I was rude to you in the car, Uncle Sammy. And m’sorry I snatched the bell out of your hand after you took it away. Though, I have to say, it’s not my fault I have superior reflexes and-”
“Alec...” Dean’s all gruff and warning and Sam’s more than a little surprised that this is on his behalf.
“M’sorry,” Alec says again. And he pulls the bell out his hoodie pocket and hands it to Sam. “Dean- I mean, Daddy says I have to give this to you now, because I acted like a little asshole-”
“I didn’t say to call yourself an asshole, Alec. Try again.”
“How m’I supposed to get through this with you interruptin’ me all the time? Anyway, m’sorry I was disrespectful and you deserve better because you’re awesome and stuff. I realize now that my attitude and behavior were unfitting of a clone of Dean Winchester in the environment of the most awesome car to ever roar across the western plains and will you please forgive me?”
Sam snorts, looks at the bicycle bell in his hand, rings it once. “Sure, why not?”
“I expect that back at some point you know,” Alec tells him.
“Maybe when you’re thirty.”
“How come you get it, then? You’re not even thirty.”
“Closer to it than you.”
Alec rolls his eyes. Then he fidgets, looks back down at the ground. “Do I get my hug, now?”
Sam wonders briefly when he became the guy to hug before opening his arms to catch the quick impact that is Alec.
“M’sorry,” the boy says again, and this time he sounds earnest and sincere. “I really didn’t mean it. Sittin’ in the car all the time is just so boring.”
“Yeah, gets to me, too.”
It does. It really does. Sam leans down and kisses the kid’s head, because hell, it’s all forgiven, and Sam may be the sentimental Winchester, but this was a little more family drama than even he’s up for in one go.
Alec releases him, though he keeps an inexplicable hand latched to the fabric of Sam’s shirt on the way back to the Impala. Dean smirks when Sam looks at him for an explanation, raises an eyebrow. Sam rings the bicycle bell one more time.
“You’re puttin’ that thing in the trunk, by the way,” his brother tells him, arms still full of Ben. “It’s either that or I throw it out the window while we’re doing 90.”
Sam throws the bell in the trunk.
He gets into the car just as Dean’s starting the engine. Their boys are quiet and sleepy-eyed in the back seat. Sam puts his head against the cool glass of the window and closes his eyes, but this time he doesn’t pretend he’s alone.
[ Next]